


let your heart be light

by ThatGirlTheyKnow



Series: Annual Christmas Fics [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Mistletoe, Not Beta Read, Pack Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 11:51:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2849879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatGirlTheyKnow/pseuds/ThatGirlTheyKnow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is hiding in the kitchen.</p><p>A short story of Christmas, stress, and mistletoe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let your heart be light

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas guys! I hope all your days have been amazing. Christmas is very important to me, so once again I am honouring the birth of Jesus Christ with a heartwarming homosexual love story. It's what he would have wanted.
> 
> This is set in a convenient post-s2 AU where Derek is the alpha, everyone is alive, and for one day Beacon Hills isn't in terrible danger from another supernatural threat.
> 
> Also, this is my first Teen Wolf fic! Wow. 
> 
> Title taken randomly from my personal favourite Christmas song, "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas".

Stiles is hiding in the kitchen.

He isn’t a coward, okay? It’s just that he _may_ have overestimated his ability to successfully host Christmas for the entire pack, and now he’s covered in sugar from frantically making enough cookies to feed an _entire army_ and Scott is _no help_ because he’s _the worst best friend_ and Stiles really, really needs a drink right now.

Stiles makes his way to the fridge, helps himself to a bottle of some fruity but delightfully alcoholic substance he’s pretty sure Erica bought by flashing some boob -  or claw, or both - and downs it in two large, desperate gulps.

“You okay?” A dry, amused voice disrupts Stiles’s panic, and he swivels ungracefully to glare at Derek, who is leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms and a tiny smirk that you wouldn’t notice unless you had to get very good, very quickly, at reading people, just in case they might _literally eat you_.

“I’m fine, dude” Stiles tries half-heartedly, glancing at the oven in which a very large bird was currently being cooked. “Absolutely fine.”

Derek snorts. “I can hear your heart. I think you’re one minor complication off a nervous breakdown.”

Stiles ignores his alpha in favour of fluttering around the kitchen useless until that damned alcohol kicks in and everything is easier. In the lounge room he can hear shouting from what is probably a very intense game of Trivial Pursuit which could very well end in claws out and minor property damage, his dad’ll be home from the station in an hour, tired from the mind-numbing Christmas shift, and the potatoes are coming along nicely but not as nicely as they _could_ be.

Suddenly, just as Stiles is about to triple-check on the gravy, a pair of strong arms rest of his shoulders and he’s forcefully spun around to meet Derek’s eyes.

“Shut up,” says the werewolf.

Stiles takes a large breath. “Okay.”

Derek almost smiles. “Good.”

-

Dinner is a success, thanks only to Stiles’s hours of research on cooking methods, and everyone finishes full, warm, and lethargic. One by one, they leave, laden with presents and wishing everyone a very merry Christmas, and Stiles watches them go with a feeling of satisfaction and affection. _He_ did this, brought them together today, and he’s proud of that fact.

However, once the goodbyes are said and the few staying the night – Allison and Lydia, a bit tipsy from Erica’s booze, and Scott, Melissa already gone – are given places to crash, there are things to do, like cleaning up the dishes, putting away leftovers, and generally making sure the next day can be one of relaxation, not stress. Relaxation and sleep.

This cleaning plan is thrown away when Stiles realises Derek is sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a mug of hot chocolate. He looks pretty content, pretty comfortable. Stiles slides into the seat next to him.

“So Christmas is over,” he sighs.

“Not yet,” Derek murmurs. He nudges Stiles with his shoulder, and jerks his head up. Stiles looks. There’s mistletoe hanging innocently from the ceiling.

He feels his stomach drop. His cheeks redden. “Um,” is all he can say before looking at Derek, whose face is suddenly so very close, and then they’re _kissing_ , because why not?

It’s a pretty chaste kiss, but firm, like Derek is trying to tell him something. It’s not a playful peck or a friendly smooch. This is a real kiss.

Stiles moves back half an inch, then surges forward, wraps his hands in Derek’s hair, and then they’re really kissing, slowly and lazily, because it’s Christmas night, there’s no need to rush anything today.

When they pull back, Stiles cocks an eyebrow which Derek returns with equal sass. He leans forward and pecks the alpha on the lips once more, because he can.

Stiles gets up, pours himself a mug of coffee, and sits back down next to Derek, saying nothing, but just a bit closer than before.


End file.
